Brevity
by xXxLasting-MemoriesxXx
Summary: Brevity (n.): concise and exact use of words in writing or speech. **Writing Workshop of Drabbles** Note: accepting word number suggestions, as well as prompt suggestions. Current Chapter (2) Excerpt: "A sweet, flower-like scent accompanied the soft, whispering voice igniting a flame somewhere in his frozen chest... the owner of the scent and voice knelt in the mud beside him..."
1. Innocence

**A/N: **

**Title: Innocence**

**Prompt: The words childish and beauty.**

**Word Count: 100**

**Date: 22 May 2013**

"You can't get me!"

Harry Potter glanced above the top of the paper at his three children. A defiant semblance shined on Lily's face, as his sons' displayed determination.

"You can't live forever," protested James, aiming a twig at her. Albus matched James's actions.

"Yeah, especially not a Dark Lord."

Lily's high-pitched giggle echoed; there wasn't a dark bone in her. Still, her brother's words sounded venomous. The beauty of imagination.

Despite the memories, Harry smiled to himself. This moment was what he fought for.

As long as it's the only war they'll know, he thought, returning to the paper.


	2. Questions

**A/N: **

**Title: Questions**

**Prompt: From CartoonGurl201m: "…Maybe you could use the words dirty and cold?..."**

**Word Count: 2485 (no limit this time)**

**Date: 31 July 2017**

The rain was sharp crystals piercing the earth and morphing it into a muddy slate; from the greenest patches of grass to the blue silk ponds, every color faded into a murky brown, just like the dirt of Teddy Lupin's clothes. Every time his trainers collided with the ground, despite how delicate he placed them, the grass was shredded revealing more brown and slowly destroyed the memorizing, unique beauty this broken sanctuary beheld. The destruction was numb to him; it was only the death of another thing. The world was filled with it. He learned that at a young age.

And now, his day was filled with gray and brown- tombstones and mud. Godric's Hallow's weather must've been enlightened by mood setting, because it always did a decent job. For instance, the morning had easy rays of sunlight that slowly raised the temperature to a setting that was neither cold nor hot, allowing the Potter-Weasley to clan to have a perfect day for a merry family gathering at the Potters to celebrate Harry's thirty-sixth birthday. And it was, until words, which pried on the worries that Teddy harbored most, were exchanged between godfather and son; the rain, then, came as if on cue.

The nineteen-year-old clenched his eyes shut, his feet not needing sight to walk the path they'd walked many times before, as he remembered the five words that made him cringe and should've filled him with joy:

"Your parents would be proud."

Of course, he plastered on a genuine smile and received a pat on the back before being left to his thoughts all for assisting with the aid of little Lily, who fell and scraped her knee. It was his apparent quick thinking that awarded him the compliment, but others did the same every day and received nothing. Thus, Teddy could not help but wonder if the words were truthful or a clueless phrase to help him feel better; was it only aid for him to sleep better at night? Harry wouldn't only say it to say it, would he? He understood.

"Yeah, he understands the want to hear it straight from them…" muttered Teddy, though gritted teeth, as his eyes squinted open to see through the million of ice droplets. July had never felt colder and the questions he yearned to be answered never seemed so distant. He was naïve to hope otherwise; a boy's brain in a man's body was all that he was. How could anyone be proud of that?

He shook his head and halted in his path. In front of him were four graves and an extra slab of stone. It was Harry's idea to have the Marauder reunited in death, but did not wish to split Remus and Tonks Lupin up. Therefore, it was why Teddy only had to walk a couple blocks from the Potter's cottage to see the graves of his parents, accompanied by the ones of James and Lily Potter, as well as a stone marking of the bodiless grave of Sirius Black; the man would never have a body buried beneath the earth.

Maybe, it was fitting; after all his grandmother gave her approval, but he couldn't resist having distaste for the burial site. If he had been older, he would've insisted them to have a resting place near Hogwarts, perhaps by the Shrieking Shack. It had been his father's poor fate, which only slightly inherited to Teddy, that gave it its name and Hogwarts was where they died for the future of others. Was it not more fitting than a graveyard and town that started the war that caused their pain?

Then again, if he had been older, maybe he would've fathomed the decision of his godfather and grandmother. There was only so much he could learn about them through stories, which were limited to those people felt comfortable to tell. Teddy wasn't daft, he was aware there were certain ones kept from him because of the pain that connected itself to them- pain that was too raw to retell it. This, Teddy felt, was unfair. But life was full of unfair paths; another lesson he learned early on. The third lesson was that he thought entirely too much for his sanity; Harry and his grandmother had told him it countless amount of times.

Inhaling deeply, which he was instructed to do when he caught himself pondering like this, he knelt on the ground in front of the combined tombstone. Instantly, his knee was soaked in a mixture of excess rain and mud sending a shiver about him. This was exactly what he wanted as a baby: to be dirty and cold talking to stones instead of his parents… He scoffed at the sarcastic thought, only thinking of one bright side: at least his tears were disguised as droplets. His longing, his agony, his pain could be masked better than without it. He felt too strong to be seen as so broken.

"Teddy…"

A sweet, flower-like scent accompanied the soft, whispering voice igniting a flame somewhere in his frozen chest and before he could pry his eyes from the graves to glance behind he saw the owner of the scent and voice gently knelt in the mud beside him. The shock halted his cascading thoughts at once. Looking over to verify his peripheral vision, his mouth fell open with a question:

"Victoire?"

Her sleek, blond locks were clumped and ratted from the wind and rain, which created tracks of mascara and water on her face, and her knee length, white dress, which she voiced as one of her favorites, was slowly turning a murky brown from the ground she knelt on. He imagined his pants to look the same, but dirt was never something that bothered him, however he could not remember a single incident, after the start of her third year, when Victoire did not choose staying clean over it. She always took pride in beauty, occasionally a little too much.

"You seemed really upset when you left, which can I say made Uncle Harry quite worried since you didn't tell anyone where you were going, but Nana did say you're an adult and Andromeda agreed, so they left you be," she calmly recapped and slowly looked away, "but I couldn't… your eyes were so distressed, even if you managed to keep your hair blue…"

Her ramblings made him crack a small smile, as she carried on about how normally his hair changed with his moods; brown was always the most worrisome, apparently. Had she really paid attention to such little things about him? Of course, he knew she always chewed on her bottom lip when she was nervous, just as she was doing in between thoughts.

"… Is what Uncle Harry said what made you..."

He decided to put her out of her misery, since she was obviously slowly running out of things to say.

"I don't think I've seen you voluntarily sit in dirt since you were eleven and we had that mud fight with James, Freddie, Dom, and the others." He really didn't want to talk about what made him come out here, but was pleased to know she had guessed right; not that he was in the state to tell her at the moment. She was dazed at the abrupt topic change for a moment, but quickly caught on. He was fortunate to have such a bright witch for company, especially one that always made him feel warm. She smile could substitute for the suns on cloudy days just like today.

"You know, I don't hate dirt. I just dislike how it gets into the places you don't want it to be," explained Victoire, glancing at him with her blue eyes that seemed to radiate the color back into the small puddles on the ground. He was sure it did the same for the pond near the entrance as well. Eyes like hers had that power; that he was sure of.

His small smile ached his cold muscles, as he glanced down at the ends of her dress and shrugged, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. You know that-"

"I know." She quickly interrupted, not giving him time to finish. "I swear that I won't be cursing your name about you ruining my dress. You didn't throw mud at me like my third year. I did this myself."

The laughter in her voice was contagious and came into his own.

"Good, because that was bloody terrifying. I thought I was going to be dead…" The phrase left his mouth before he could stop it sending a silence over the moment. The rain echoed in his mind and his eyes locked once more on his parent's grave. If he was dead, he'd have the answer to all those unanswered questions, but would leave so many more unknown…

He could feel the thoughts rushing back and anxiety captivated him. He didn't want this to happen; he had begun feeling warm again, but just like always something small snapped him back into this. He was nineteen and this pattern was something he was told he'd outgrow. That the constant paranoia and questions would be gone one day. Maybe he hadn't discovered the antidote yet?

Victoire's hand gently pressed against his cheek forcing his head to turn in her direction and he caught her eyes; they were shimmering in concern and something else he couldn't quite place at the moment.

"Teddy."

He couldn't hold his thoughts to himself any longer.

"Do you think they're proud? Harry said that they were earlier, but can I really be sure? How do I know I'm leaving up to the dream they had of me? What if I'm not? What if… what if…" His voice cracked, and he internally cursed. At least the rain was still his disguise of tears; it was his mask.

He watched her closely and waited for her to make a sound, but nothing came. He figured she was waiting for him to finish; he wasn't normally one to end in the middle of a sentence. When he had something to say, he said it.

Quietly, he gathered his strength, though he was not a Gryffindor, and slowly whispered, "What if I'm a disappointment?"

There was a silence between them where the wind howled, sounding similar to a mixture of a werewolf and a laugh. As a child, Teddy used to pretend that was his father speaking to him in the best way he could; he knew better now, but the hope lingered. However, instead of dwelling in nostalgia, his thoughts were halted by a soft chuckle from Victoire. He had opened up and she was laughing. That didn't make him feel better.

"Thanks, Vic. Thanks," he snapped, pulling his head from her hand.

A semblance of realization overcame her, as she gasped, "Oh Teddy, I'm sorry! I didn't mean- oh, I'm sorry! It's just that what you said about being a disappointment, it made me think and I couldn't help myself!"

"I'm glad you find my pain funny," he shortly replied, standing up from the ground and stretching his legs; she copied his actions, however instead of stretching, she tried to wipe off the mud.

"That's not what I was laughing at, I swear!" she exclaimed. "Please, just listen."

Teddy debated her plead, walked a couple feet towards the exit of the graveyard, then returned to her. He couldn't think of a logical reason for her chuckle, so he couldn't resist not hearing her out. After a couple minutes, he swallowed back his protests and demanded, "What?"

She was chewing on her lip again and swayed back and forth, which was a sign she was in a complex situation. There was no sign of her lying, which came as a relief and aggravation to him. Perhaps, she was losing her sanity.

"You said you were afraid of being a disappointment," she started quietly but surely, "as though having dead parents gives only you the right to feel that way, but since you love questions, tell me this: does any kid actually know if they make their parents proud? I mean, my Mum and Dad tell me all the bloody time, but I know there is disappointment, in my Mum, that I chose Dad's school over her school and that Dom is a bit too boy-ish for her preference. So does what are they? Proud or disappointed? Does any kid truly know? Parent's lie all the bloody time. What would make this any different? I mean-"

Her cheeks flushed red, as Teddy suspected she discovered she was rambling and was at the moment now trying to decide whether she made any sense. It was safe to say most of the time she didn't, but at least her ramblings made him feel better and he felt as though he got most of it or at least a some of the point.

To put her out of her misery again, Teddy stepped forward and looked in her eyes. A new question sparked up right then: was Victoire's obsession was beauty a way to feel as though she was making her mother proud? He would probably never know, but could hope.

"What you're trying to say is, in a oddly blunt and vague way," he softly chuckled, "is that no child knows for sure whether they make their parent's proud, but it's all what they choose to believe?"

Grinning, Victoire nodded, "You use so many less words than me. I don't understand how you do it. I mean, whenever I try that I- I'm doing it again, sorry. But yes, that's what I was saying…" Her cheeks were Weasley red; Teddy adored them when this happened. Maybe one day soon he'd even tell her that, but not now, it wasn't right.

Sighing, as thoughts returned to his head, though he didn't really mind these ones, Teddy took a hold of her hand and said, "Thanks, Vic. For everything."

He swore that her eyes, which glistened brighter than he'd ever seen, chased away the rain and burst through the thick gray clouds giving life back to the sun. Of course, the logical side of him told him it was only perfect timing but his other half was prepared to fight it. The logic would not win this time.

Turning and heading away from his parents, Teddy had a newfound belief that his parents were proud of him and decided some questions were best left unanswered. Tightening his grip on her hand, he easily listened to her ramble on again, his smile widening as she batted her eyelashes in his direction and innocently wondered:

"So, you know, a new white dress would be lovely. This mud will positively stain this. Interested in making a donation to the closet of moi, Teddy? Please?"

Maybe her beauty was for herself, as well. Just another question Teddy would never know.

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you to CartoonGurl201m for reviewing and to those who faved and followed. It really means a lot! Oh, and sorry for errors of spelling or grammar. It was a bit late when I finished this. I will look over and edit it when I have the chance it there are mistakes; I just really wanted to post this. Thank you!**


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